


All the Hells Within You

by Lone_wolf625



Category: The Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Torture, Past Torture, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rats, Threats of Rape/Non-Con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-23
Updated: 2018-10-23
Packaged: 2019-08-06 15:32:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16390361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lone_wolf625/pseuds/Lone_wolf625
Summary: Its been almost two weeks since the team rescued Vin from the sadistic, gun-runner who held and tortured him for 7 days... While his body is recovering physically, his mind is a different story altogether. He's haunted by horrific nightmares that plague him both while asleep and awake... visions of the torture he suffered and something worse. The rest of the team have stood solidly behind him, but mostly just letting him deal in his own stubborn way. He's failing... but help is coming from an unexpected source - in an unexpected way.*** I wrote this following some very generous comments left for Seven Days. You don't have to read that one for this to make sense but it will give you more in-depth background. One of the commenters wanted to know more about Ezra's experience. Here you are... hope you like what I put together. ***The title is a slight variation from a quote from Joseph Campbell's book "The Power of Myth."





	All the Hells Within You

 

 

 

**All the Hells Within You**

( _ Set almost two weeks after the events of  Seven Days) _

 

_ All the gods, all the Heavens, all the Hells are within you _

 

 

 

 

He awoke, body tangled in a blanket wet from perspiration, his throat feeling the raw reminder of non-verbal cries turned into audible screams. His heart was still racing even as his eyes rapidly blinked, trying desperately to make his brain accept reality from the dark remnants of the nightmare he’d just been paralyzed by. 

 

Lifting a shaky right hand, he brushed back the tendrils of hair that had cascaded forward over his face. His fingers momentarily caught in brown strands that terminated in knots causing him to grimace slightly from the tug against his scalp. 

 

He moved slowly, his body still feeling the stiffness of sleep and the soreness of healing. His left leg protested the most, the gunshot wound tormenting the muscles in his thigh with even the slightest movement. HIs ribs joined in on the physical demonstration adding their own complaints against both his rapid breathing and sudden launch into an upright position. 

 

Vin swung his legs around so that his bare feet felt the smooth hardwood of the floor of Chris’ den beneath him. His back pressed against the firm cushions of the relatively new leather sofa Larabee had purchased just a few months back. It was one of those big L-shaped ones that held room enough for seating the entire team during one of their many frequent get-togethers. Its size also made it perfect for any of the larger men who wanted -or in his case, needed - a place to sprawl out. 

 

He ran his open palm against the cool, smooth surface of the buffed hide. The tactile sensation helped ground him; the softness of the material ebbed away the memories of sharp implements and rough ropes. A quick glance around the room assured him he was alone. The familiar sounds of a fire crackling in the fireplace blended with the fragrant odor of burning pine logs. 

 

Drawing in a stuttered breath, the recovering agent closed his eyes and leaned his head back, willing the last dark images and the resulting panic to subside. It wasn’t the first time that he’d awoken in near terror, a nightmare playing out in his subconscious mind forcing him to relive his recent captivity and torture at the hands of Roberto DeLeon and his men. In fact, in the weeks since his rescue, Vin could more easily count the times that his sleep had  _ not  _ ended in panic-inducing replays of those events than the times he came awake and could claim a decent, dream-free sleep.

 

He knew the others, namely Chris, were concerned.

 

He knew it was taking its toll on him physically as well as mentally. 

 

He knew he couldn’t continue going on like this; seeing the face of his torturer every time he closed his eyes. 

 

Vin just figured that after a while, like most memories, it would fade, he would get over it. If he just focused on something else - work, rehab, anything - the hellish images with their corresponding phantom pain would turn into little more than a rare thought; something that had happened in his past and was sequestered away like so many other occurences he’d rather forget. 

 

The only problem was that so far that wasn’t happening. If anything, the nightmares were becoming more vivid and more frequent. He supposed that it wasn’t helping that he’d long since quit taking the medication he was prescribed while in the hospital. While the Trazadone had prevented some of his dreams and had helped him get to sleep, it left him feeling hungover and mentally foggy. He was tired of sleeping all the time, especially when sleep wasn’t his friend. It had become easier to just stay awake. But even then, the images tended to haunt him.

 

“I thought perhaps you might care for a cup of lemon balm tea,” Ezra’s voice softly offered.

 

Vin startled, his eyes flying open and his body becoming tense as he prepared to defend himself against the sudden appearance of his teammate. 

 

“My apologies, Mr. Tanner. It was not my intention to distress you. I noted that you were awake and merely thought you might appreciate a soothing beverage while lunch was warming.”

 

Blue eyes dulled by sleep, peered back at the undercover agent. Vin held no illusion that Ezra had not heard his recent outcry despite the fact that the southerner’s face feigned minimal concern. 

 

“Don’ wan’ nuthin’ to eat…” Vin mumbled, slowly wiggling his body to sink deeper down into the couch. It would simply be too much to hope for if the large sofa would just suck him right into the framework. 

 

Even with his eyes once more closed, Vin could sense that Ezra was still standing there, the proffered beverage still held out before him. He caught a whiff of lemon and mint and for a moment he reconsidered the need for something to drink as the dryness in his mouth beckoned for relief.

 

“Yes, well we can debate the merits of that decision later,” Standish responded. “For the moment, please consider the tea. Trust me when I say that you will find it not only refreshing but also palliative for your throat.”

 

Tanner debated, his stubbornness demanding that he just curl back into a ball on the couch and ignore his teammate until the man gave up and went away. Yet he knew that Ezra would either continue to pester him with inane talk, forcing him to engage if for no other reason than to argue why he didn’t want the tea… wasn’t hungry… wanted to be left alone.

 

Worse, even if he managed to get rid of Ezra, the ex-Fibbie would just pass the baton to Larabee. While Chris had been fairly patient in dealing with his recovery ever since their “talk” out on the deck the day after his discharge, Vin knew his friend was merely biding his time and biting his tongue. Vin saw the blond hanging at the fringes; looking on when he thought Tanner wasn’t aware, checking on him when he thought Vin was sound asleep.

 

Sooner or later, Chris was going to make demands. He’d likely drag in Nathan or Josiah, seeking their help for either physical or psychological intervention. 

 

_ Probably both _ , Vin thought, considering how his lack of sleep was slowly taking its toll on his health and appearance. _ And my temper… _

 

With a weak sigh, he forced himself to make eye contact. “Yeah, okay, Ez,” Vin acquiesced, reaching out for the steaming cup. 

 

“Excellent,” Standish eagerly responded, carefully handing over the beverage and waiting until he was sure that Vin was able to manage it. “I apologize if the temperature is too warm, but Mr. Larabee did not appear to possess a suitable frothing thermometer. Green and white teas really should be brewed between 170 and 185 degrees. I, unfortunately, was forced to improvise.”

 

Vin took a small sip. The tea was hot, but not so much that it burned his lips or mouth. The lemon and mint flavors were present but subtle so as not to be overpowering. The warmth of the drink felt good as it trailed down his throat. He’d been cold for so long, anything that chased away the bone-gnawing chill was a welcome respite. 

 

“It’s good, Ez. Thanks…” he spoke quietly. 

 

“Yes, well, is there anything else I can get for you?”

 

“I’m fine…”

 

“I believe we are all well aware of your usual self-diagnosis, Mr. Tanner, but that was not what I asked.” Vin watched as Ezra stepped past his knees and reached for the balled up blanket that had been pushed toward the edge of the sofa. 

 

“Really, Ez… I’m good… I don’ need n’ythin…” Vin insisted, his eyes tracking the other man’s movements. 

 

Standish appeared to ignore him, shaking out the fleece and thankfully not commenting on the obvious condition. He moved toward the blanket rack that Chris had placed near the hearth and retrieved a heavier hand-made quilt. 

 

“Perhaps you might prefer this one,” he offered. “There’s a definite chill in Mr. Larabee’s abode this afternoon and the weather forecasters have mentioned an opportunity for snow later tonight.” 

 

Vin nodded and accepted the covering. It was easier than coming up with all the reasons that he didn’t want Ezra fussing over him. 

 

He felt a moment’s relief when Standish exited the den, hoping it meant that the other agent had decided to leave him to himself and go back to whatever other tasks had occupied him earlier.  It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate Ezra - or any of their efforts - it was just that he couldn’t stand the looks that bespoke of pity. 

 

_ Poor Vin… tortured by a psychopath… broken Vin… so messed up… _

 

He didn’t expect Chris or the rest of them to have any confidence in his complete recovery when it was pretty hard for him to see a future for himself that did not have ghosts around every dark corner. It wasn’t that he hadn’t been trying to get back on his feet, the three days he’d been going back and forth to physical therapy to work on his leg and shoulder could attest to that. But it was just that despite all his physical efforts, Vin felt like he was taking a dozen steps backward on the mental side of improvement.

 

“I do not anticipate Mr. Larabee’s return for at least another hour or two. He mentioned having to arrange for a grain delivery prior to making a stop to replenish the pantry.” Ezra reappeared from down the hallway, startling the unaware sharpshooter. Vin’s reaction was unmissable as he jerked into a defensive position dropping the cup of tea, the glassware shattering and fractured pieces scattering across the floor. 

 

A moment passed as Vin remained rigid in his posture, his eyes wide with adrenalin even as his brain fought between fight or flight. Eventually, it was Ezra that broke the silence.

 

“My apologies for alarming you, Mr. Tanner. Pay that no heed. I’m quite certain that Mr. Larabee will not miss a Colorado Rockies mug from what passes for the rest of his rather eclectic set of china.”

 

Tanner glanced down to the floor and the broken mess before turning a penitent glance back up at Ezra. The conman’s face remained a picture of calm, blue-green eyes returned his gaze with a depth that conveyed understanding… and something more. 

 

“I… I… don… I’m… jus… s-s’rry…”Vin fumbled, moving forward to begin cleaning up the mess.    
  


He inadvertently collided with the other man as Ezra also rushed toward the broken glass in an effort to spare the recovering man the physical stress. 

 

“Please allow me…”

 

“I… I… got it…” 

 

Both men spoke simultaneously, hand reaching for random pieces. 

 

Fingertips accidentally touched and Vin jerked his hand away as though he’d just been cut by a sharp edge of one of the shards. 

 

“Did you injure yourself?” Ezra asked with concern, slowly extending his open hand in an effort to examine Vin’s injured one. 

 

“No!” Vin nearly shouted, scrambling back until he resumed his original place on the sofa. He glared back at Ezra, his eyes almost wild with panic even as he wrapped his arms around his chest, tucking his hands underneath his armpits. 

 

Ezra quickly finished cleaning the small accident, taking the broken pieces to be disposed of in the kitchen trash and returning with one of the small dish towels to wipe up the remaining tea. Vin watched his every move as he quickly eliminated all traces of the mishap. When the slightly older man finally finished, Tanner hoped that now Ezra would finally retreat to the kitchen and just leave him alone. 

 

He was sorely disappointed as Ezra instead ambled over and slowly seated himself in the large leather upholstered club chair. 

 

“Ez… I’m okay… you… you don’... hav’ta  hang out…” Vin insisted, his voice cracking slightly as he fought to suppress his continuing panic. 

 

It didn’t help when Standish offered back a gentle smile and seemed to adjust himself into a more comfortable position. Vin couldn’t believe and certainly did not want to have an in-depth conversation with their resident confidence man. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Standish, merely that of the other six men, Ezra just wasn’t the one who seemed interested or sympathetic to what he’d been through. 

 

The perfectly coiffed agent responded with a silent nod and a quick smile, but there was no real humor behind the expression this time and Vin could see that the green eyes had become darker, Ezra’s gaze focused on his hands that seemed to be absently smoothing the fabric of his Ermenegildo Zegna trousers. It was a habit that Vin had witnessed in the other man numerous times before; a tell that Ezra only exhibited when he was nervous, which was rare.  

 

_ But why would Ez be nervous… unless he’s freakin’ out about me…  _ Vin considered. 

 

The sharpshooter cast a quick look around the room he knew so well, calculating his quickest exist and wondering if he should head for his bedroom where he could lock the door or the barn where Standish was least likely to follow. In the end, his indecision left him trapped on the couch. 

 

“Have we ever spoken about what occurred while I was undercover during the Simic case?” Ezra asked stoically. 

 

Before Vin could reply the dark-haired man quickly added, “No, I supposed I would not have. At least not beyond what was required of me to recount through official reports.” 

 

Vin was confused. He’d been expecting Ezra to try to question him about his nightmares, to “fix” him, or even comfort him. He’d never fathomed that his teammate was going to share his own experience and to be honest, Vin wasn’t sure he could handle anything Standish was about to say. 

 

“Ez… I don’ know… you don’ hav’ ta’... I mean… I don’ think I can…” 

 

Ezra waved him off, but this time did not meet his eyes. 

 

“I believe this will be cathartic for both of us, Mr. Tanner. And while it may not be particularly easy… for either of us… I hope… no… I do trust, that it will aid in your overall recovery.” 

 

Tanner shook his head adamantly. “I’m fine…”

 

“Ah… but you are not. Surely you are well on the way to recuperating from your physical ailments but let us speak frankly now… your mental rehabilitation is far from having returned to its former vigor,” Ezra spoke openly. 

 

And there it was. Any chance that he had been fooling any of them was revealed for the ruse it had been. Deep down, Vin supposed he’d only ever been fooling himself to think that the others wouldn’t notice how bad the nightmares had become.

 

“Would it shock you if I were to recount the times that like you, I have been torn from Morpheus’ grasp with visions of violence, my throat abused from voicing the anger, fear, and pain?”

 

“I… I don…” Vin began, but Ezra continued on, ignoring his weak protests. 

 

“My own experiences began mere days after you and the others were able to deliver me from that vile man and his associates. Much like you, I was relegated to spending my first few days post-captivity within the confines of the local health system…”

 

“Don’ r’member you havin’ to be sedated…” Tanner threw back defiantly. 

 

Ezra paused and spared a flash of irritation that barely concealed the painful underlying emotions. 

 

WIth a breath of patience, he went on. “No… no, you would be correct about that, Mr. Tanner. I did not have the benefit of pharmacologic intervention… more’s the pity perhaps.”

 

The comment caught Vin off guard and even as Standish continued speaking, the sharpshooter found himself considering the implications of his friend’s last statement. 

 

Ezra wishing he would have been drugged? It seemed so uncharacteristic of the tightly controlled man. Much like himself, Ezra was usually not one who chose to be confined by injury or the resulting medical profession’s typical methods for healing. Both men were well known amongst their teammates for being the most recalcitrant patients when sick or injured. Vin edged out the elder agent simply because he tended to amass more injuries and generally succumbed to every seasonal bug that made the rounds. But neither of them, regardless of the injury or illness, readily chose to take medication, especially narcotics, despite how badly they were hurt. 

 

“Perhaps if I had only been more truthful with my medical team…” Ezra had been speaking, his words finally catching Vin’s ear as his mind focused back on what the undercover operative was recounting.

 

“Unfortunately, as is my custom, I chose solitude, preferring to tend my injuries as I had always done in the past. Much as you tend to prefer…”

 

Vin’s mind scrambled for words to deny the accusation but he knew the dark-haired man was correct. Given the option, he would have likely already escaped the almost claustrophobic confines of Larabee’s ranch home in favor of the isolation of his own apartment. If he had, at least he wouldn’t be subjected to having this conversation with Ezra right now.

 

“The first night at home I slept so well. There were no dreams, at least not any that I recalled in the morning and other than my physical complaints, I thought that I would easily put the ordeal behind me.”

 

“But that did’n happen huh?” Vin asked almost tentatively. 

 

Ezra huffed out a breath of air and smirked as he shook his head. “No, Mr. Tanner… as I’ve eluded… it did not. Each time I closed my eyes I found myself back there… within the clutches of the Simic organization.”

 

Vin’s heart felt like it was going to beat right out of his chest. They’d never asked and Ezra had never volunteered to tell, exactly what had happened to him while he’d been undercover trying to infiltrate the Serbian’s clandestine operation. They all were  _ very _ aware that the mission had gone horribly off-script when Ezra failed to make his scheduled check-in, knew things were even worse when one of Ezra’s informants told Buck that there was a rumor on the street that Julian Amitradge - the undercover agent’s false identity - had been seen being pushed by gunpoint into the rear of Simic’s sedan following their dinner meeting at Abreo. 

 

Tanner had never considered until now just how Ezra had dealt with being held captive during the 56 hours it took for the team to storm Simic’s headquarters. His fate uncertain, his life likely forfeit, Vin wondered if Ezra like himself had succumbed to hopelessness. 

 

“I ‘member you was all crammed in that utility closet when we found you…” Vin recalled, his mind pulling up images of a beaten and bloody Standish, shaking with relief as they removed the blindfold from around his head. 

 

“Yes, someone shoved me in there when the initial attack began. But before, I had been held in the sub-basement, below the offices and storage; a most despicable place I assure you.”

 

“Your nightmares… they was about that place? Where they kept you?”

 

Vin struggled with the need to know, to hear Ezra’s story, hopeful that the other man’s experience would make his own seem somehow - normal? It was stupid to think that way, but battling the vivid nightmares every time he closed his eyes made him feel like he was broken, dysfunctional…  _ abnormal even _ . 

 

He’d felt different all his young life, constantly struggling to just “fit in”, to be liked… to be loved. Vin was tired of feeling weird… odd… a freak. Standing out, only to be ridiculed for his differences. 

 

“I have found myself going back to the darkness of my captivity time and again, back among the sewage and filth and odors… and the rats,” Ezra admitted, a shiver rolling through his slight frame. 

 

“They pretty much kept me in some warehouse… always hanging from the rafters like some slab of meat. Guess it made it easier to beat on me or whatev’r else DeLeon decided to do,” Vin responded. “It was always cold… and I could never see outside.”

 

Ezra acknowledge him with a nod. “One of Simic’s men was particularly adept at using a chain as part of his means of persuasion. He would wrap the lengths around his hand or often as not, just use it as one would a lash. There was no bracing for it… as I could with their fists. I could never quite tell where the end of the thick links would land… I could never quite…  _ prepare _ .”

 

It was Vin’s turn to nod in sympathy. “Was one of DeLeon’s thugs that was fond of using a cattle prod or some sort. I could see him coming at me most times… but he got real creative. Used it on the back of my legs… then the bottom of my feet… and then… yeah, well… I tried not to scream… didn’t want to give that sonofabitch the satisfaction… but after a bit… I  jus’ couldn’t stand the feelin’ of that ‘lectricity… and not…  _ there _ .”

 

“You realize Mr. Tanner that there is no…”

 

“Ez… if’n we’re gonna carry on barin’ our souls and all… ya’ gonna have to drop the Mr. Tanner… ‘s makin’ me feel like I’ma talkin’ to a shrink and not one a my best friends…” Vin warned with a wan chuckle. 

 

Ezra joined him with a brief laugh and offered a nod of his head in acceptance. “Very well… Vin. As I was saying… there is no shame in succumbing to the limits of your body’s tolerance. While I am loathed to recount it, during the first evening of my confinement and long after several hours of their physical brutality, I found myself subjected to a very unwelcome pedicure.” 

 

Vin cringed at the implication. “They ripped off your toenails?”

 

“It was one of the reasons that my return to active duty was delayed. But I digress… like you, the first time was endurable… while painful, I  _ believed _ I was strong enough to withstand their tactics. However, as they finished on one foot and turned to the other, I could not hold back the emotional response.”

 

“You was crying?”

 

“As the proverbial baby… when I was not begging for respite.  I was not to the point of telling them what they wanted, but I would have surely given them any obscure intelligence that would have made them cease and desist.”

 

There were a few moments of quiet as Vin considered both Ezra’s admission and the before now unknown torture the other man had suffered. 

 

“Did ya’ ever break, Ez? Did they ever make ya?” he asked finally. 

 

Standish inhaled deeply and closed his eyes. “They most definitely tortured me in disgusting and inventive ways. I will always bear the scars of the random cigarette burns and the screwdriver that they heated under a flame before pressing it to my skin. But those things, horrendous as they were are not what dominates my nightmares… nor what caused me to contemplate yielding.”

 

“Then what?” Vin asked, trepidation filling him as to what could have been worse than the tortures Ezra had already disclosed. It made him feel slightly shamed, by comparison, his own brutalization seeming mild by comparison. 

 

“That first night... after they finished with me… the place I was held was beyond dismal. In fact, I can only hope that our fair city decides to destroy the building entirely to prevent some unfortunate from even considering squatting in that deathtrap. But that first night… even barely holding to consciousness as I was… I quickly realized that I was not entirely alone.”

 

Vin knew even before Ezra elaborated further what had been there in the darkness. Standish minced no words when it came to his hatred for rats. It wasn’t just part of the man’s prim and proper persona; he was as deathly afraid of the vermin as Vin was of small, enclosed spaces. 

 

“Ya’ couldn’t get away from the rats?” he asked softly.

 

“No… they were everywhere… most likely attracted by the blood I would assume. But my captors must have been watching or perhaps they even heard me yelling at some point. Nevertheless, once they ascertained my deepest fear, they then used it against me.”

 

Vin swallowed hard, his eyes glued to his teammate as he watched Ezra’s body language. The older man never faltered, his posture remaining just as perfectly positioned as when he first took his seat. In fact, he seemed relatively calm, considering he was willingly reliving what had to be one of the most awful times in his life. 

 

“The following day, when they came to question me once more, they employed the repulsive creatures. When I would not comply, they started by placing me in an empty oil drum with several of them, leaving me confined for what must have been several hours. And when that did not elicit the answers they sought… then they placed them in a large canvas bag and tied it over my head.”

 

“Awwww… Ez…” Vin exclaimed, crimping his eyes shut tightly. He didn’t think he could make eye contact with the other agent now, not knowing what Standish had endured. “I’m... I’m so s’rry”

 

“You do not owe me any regrets, Mr… err… Vin.” Ezra quickly corrected. “I’m not sharing my experiences with you to seek pity or apologies… as I said… I wish only to help you… having been through a similar trial and suffering from similar lasting effects.”

 

Vin glanced back over to Ezra, his stomach feeling as though it was about to spasm. “I nev’r had to go through nothin’ like that… I can’t even… Ez… I just don’ know how ya’ managed…”

 

“This most certainly is NOT a competition my friend. And you forget, I have seen the after-effects and heard the physician’s initial diagnoses for you. I was there when your captor shot you for no other reason than cruelty… when he drew that blade across your chest just to make you bleed. I can only imagine the savagery he inflicted.”

 

Tanner did not immediately reply, his mind taking him back to that week and a replay of each horrible session. They repeated in his head like promos for a movie, quick snippets of action that featured him as the central character, his naked body the recipient of each new form of abuse. 

 

“I’s water-boarded…” he commented finally, his voice almost void of any emotion as he recalled the event. “They’d already beaten me… been using that damned ‘lectric prod all over me… and I was so thirsty. Did’n even know where I was or even how long they’d had me at that point. Hell, I couldn’t even see clear most’a the time.” 

 

“How did you survive that?” 

 

“Been through it in my SERE training. Weren’t quite the same but I was ready… or maybe I just didn’t care by then. I was so tired. But really, that wasn’t even the worst part.” Vin admitted with a strange smile. 

 

“It wasn’t?” Ezra asked in amazement. “I simply cannot fathom what could be worse than being forced to endure repeated drowning. Surely even our own government, as well as the Geneva Convention, have prohibited that particular technique because of how utterly barbaric and cruel it is.”

 

“Yeah, well, they may have, but there’s also a reason why we still train our best soldiers on how to survive it…” Vin paused as he retreated back to the small, concrete room and DeLeon’s men swarming over him. He could almost feel… smell… the heavy, wet cloth pressed against his face as the ice cold water flooded his mouth and nose. It cascaded down his throat, up his nose and back past his nasopharynx sneaking its way into his stomach and lungs even as he fought to prevent it. He could feel himself suffocating, the air replaced by liquid, even as he panicked; his mortality threatened. His mind fought between terror and submission. He wanted to fight them, to fight back, but there were too many. He was overpowered and they restrained him easily. He was at their mercy as again and again, the water came. It flowed like some endless rush of a river and Vin thought there would be no end until it filled him, possessing him and replacing even his soul. 

 

“Vin… VIN!  MISTER TANNER… look at me this instant!” Ezra’s voice had taken on a commanding tone that suddenly broke through the dark memory, jolting Vin alert and forcing him to gasp in a breath. 

 

He had been suffocating. His chest nearly heaving as he fought to take in precious air. He reached a shaking hand up to feel his throat, trailing it further upward until his fingers touched his mouth, then nose and finally scanned his face. 

  
There was no wet cloth…

 

He wasn’t being waterboarded again… not drowning again. 

 

“I… uh… I… was like I’s back there again…” he admitted. 

 

He could feel Ezra’s eyes watching him and when their gazes met, Vin was surprised to see only concern from his friend. He’d been expecting judgment, or worse. 

 

“The mind is quite a spectacular organ… its abilities are still beyond fathoming. You suffered an unfathomable trauma… your mind is simply trying to find a way to reconcile all that you’ve been through and help you survive.”

 

“But Ez… that weren’t even the worst of it… or not what I keep relivin’ e’vry time I close my eyes.”

 

Standish sat watching him as though he was carefully considering his next words. “Perhaps if you detail to me the composition of your night terrors, I may be able to offer some suggestions. Granted, I am not schooled in psychology like Mr. Sanchez or medicine like Mr. Jackson, but I believe I am more empathetic than any of them can possibly be.”

 

The recovering sharpshooter thought about it for a moment. He’d never intended to talk this much about what had happened, but Ezra had started it by sharing his own experiences at the hands of Nikoli Simic. He’d come this far and maybe if he did tell someone, it would help. Ezra was right about one thing, unlike any of the others, Standish was the least likely to have an agenda and the most likely to understand. 

 

“Towards the end,” he went on slowly. “DeLeon had this small, Mexican fella… name was Dante’... and he was real specialized with hurtin’ folk. He used techniques that they’d warned us ‘bout back in SERE, but wasn’t nev’r trained on. Before y’all came that last day… Dante’ had taken to puttin’ me in a real bad stress position. Had me trussed up with ropin’ worse than any sort of prize calf. Figure I musta looked like a human pretzel or somethin’, I’s so twisted up.”

 

It was Ezra’s turn to wince and it was one of the only times that the conman let such a strong emotion show so blatantly on his face during their interaction thus far. 

 

“Surely it’s to be expected that you would relive that part of your captivity… to be restrained so utterly… knowing the intent is to create unspeakable pain while mentally subjugating the victim… it’s only natural that your subconscious mind is choosing to repeat this.” 

 

“No… tha’s not what I meant. The n..nightmares… well... when I close my eyes, it ain’t always that time…not really any particular part of when they had me… but…”

 

Vin’s voice trailed off as he averted his eyes. He couldn’t quite bring himself to sharing that piece of his terrifying dreams. It was more than just his embarrassment of what had happened and how it continued to reply in his head, but also that it made him feel weak and unconfident. 

 

“Please continue…”Ezra coaxed him on. “I can promise that whatever you tell me will not be conveyed to anyone else without your permission or knowledge.”

 

Tanner looked up warily. He so wanted to trust this man, wanted to be able to tell someone else what was haunting him and have them tell him how to make it all go away. 

 

“It occurs that I have not shared with you my own experiences with recurring nightmares. Perhaps by doing so, it will instill some comfort or confidence for you to relay yours to me.”

 

“Ez… you don’ hafta… I really ‘preciate everything and talkin’ has been a help… but I can’t ask ya to have to think on things like that.”

 

It was Standish’s turn to offer a somewhat haggard smile. “While I am greatly obliged to you for your concern, I am quite comfortable with describing my own trials. Months ago, I would not, could not, have done so. But with time and proper therapy…”

 

“You seen a shrink?” Vin blurted out. 

 

Ezra’s laughter relieved some of the tension the young agent was feeling, even if he didn’t fully understand how his friend could be so impassive and casual about seeking out professional mental health help. 

 

“Yes, my friend… although I’m quite sure that she prefers a less derogatory reference to her profession. But like you, I was quite reluctant to do so for some time. It was only after many nights - really pretty much anytime I closed my eyes - of seeing and feeling those rats on me. Over and over, again and again, I found myself thrust back into that piteous place. And every time, I was being covered in rats by Nikoli Simic or his men.”

 

The undercover agent paused and drew in a calming breath but not before Vin noticed that his hands were clasped together, his thumbs rubbing against each other a sure sign that the memory was still disturbing. 

 

“Sometimes they wrapped me up in plastic and poured something on me that made the rats swarm all over… biting… chewing… attacking. Other times I dreamed of being held down while some massive rodent gnawed off my foot or my hand, all while Simic kept asking the same questions and I would scream out the answers but it never stopped the rats from consuming me.”

 

Vin thought he was going to be ill as he listened to Ezra paint a vivid picture of his nightmares. 

 

“The final straw - as it were - was when I kept seeing myself having those furry, disease infested bastards crawling into my mouth… my nose… clawing their way into my head or my abdomen. I could literally feel them inside of me. Worse, I began to hallucinate even when I was awake. I saw rats everywhere… and I couldn’t escape them.”

 

“How’d ya’ manage to get back to the job… get over all that? I… I jus’... I’m not sure I can…” Vin admitted sadly. 

 

“Well, unlike you, Mr. Tanner… I am a more experienced student of disguise and deception. It’s what I do for a living. So hiding my limitations and weaknesses comes a bit more naturally for me than for someone like yourself who harbors no guile.”

 

“You just lied and told ev’ryone you was fine…” Vin replied back, nodding as he accepted that Standish had managed to fool all of them.

 

“Yes… but I do not believe that option is available to you. At the least, you’ve over-used that particular response so much that none of us would believe you even if you took an oath on a Bible.” 

 

Vin nodded sheepishly in agreement. 

 

“I kinda know what your talkin’ ‘bout tho’...” Vin slowly went on. “In my head… I can’t always see who it is… but I’m tied up… feelin’ trapped. N’ no matter how much I try, I can’t escape… the ropes just get tighter an’ tighter till I feel like they’s gonna just tear right through me...but even then… that’s not the worse of it…”

 

He looked up, seeking encouragement from his friend and finding it in the gentle acceptance of Ezra’s green orbs. 

 

“There’s hands… an… they… well… I’m tied and I don’ have no clothes on… an… an…” the tortured sniper struggled to continue. His heart was beating fast enough that he was sure Ezra could hear each thump. Nervously, he rubbed his palms against the worn denim atop his legs. 

“They’re touching… always touching and grabbing and just hand all over me. Worse than the ropes but… I… I can’t … I can’t get away… can’t move even an inch… and they laugh… I can hear DeLeon laughin’ at me. Askin’ me if I’m enjoyin’ it… telling me how weak I am… tellin’ me what those hands are gonna do…”

 

“Oh Vin… did they… were you… during your captivity… I know that they abused you terribly, but  _ that _ … they did not…” Ezra fumbled to ask the question, fear and concern lacing every word. 

 

Vin shook his head vehemently and rose up abruptly from the couch. 

 

“No!” he insisted. “They never did. But they sure threatened to. That last day before y’all came… and when they were gettin’ me all ready for the exchange… tryin’ to clean me up… they was none too gentle and they didn’t mind lettin’ their hands stray.”

 

The threat of what DeLeon’s men could have done had been all too clear in Vin’s mind. He knew he would have been powerless to stop them, any of them, if one would have tried to take him. 

 

“I was never ‘fraid of dyin’, Ez. I pretty much figured I would, s’pecially if it woulda kept you all safe or from havin’ to trade weapons for me and risk other innocent folk’s safety,” Vin explained. “But now… all I keep seeing… all I keep feeling is… well… all those hands on me and I wake up screamin’.”

 

Finished speaking, Vin slowly made his way over to the huge patio door next to the fireplace. He paused there and just stood staring out beyond the deck and across the vast expanse that was Chris’ property. The land ran to the edge of the foothills, the trees a collection of aspens and cottonwoods, their leaves mostly dropped. Just further up, the treeline changed to include a variety of spruces and the taller lodgepole pines. 

 

He wished he could be up there. The air was clear and things were pure up in the mountains. The wilderness remained essentially unblemished by the evil that men perpetrated on one another. He would be safe there; safe from nightmares, from trying to explain himself, from invisible hands that wanted to hurt him, to take. 

 

“You may have felt helpless, my friend,” Ezra began softly, walking over to stand just behind Vin’s shoulder. “But you were never powerless.”

 

Tanner left a long breath escape but it hitched halfway out, an unmistakable sob muffled as he wiped the back of his arm across his face. 

 

“Your nightmares - as they are - are because those men tried to hurt you… tried to break you and make you fearful in any way possible… but they couldn’t do that,” the older agent went on. “I saw the man who defiantly stood up against DeLeon that day, who grabbed a weapon even after he had been beaten for a week and wounded moments before. That man stood his ground and fought back, helping protect his friends, helping take down the enemy.” 

 

Vin shrugged noncommittally. 

 

“That was not a broken man. That was not a weak man. You didn’t give up...” 

 

“But I’m so messed up now…” Sun-kissed tresses dipped as Vin tore his gaze away from the scenery and looked down to the floor. 

 

“You… have suffered a horrible trauma. Both a physical and a mental one. But I assure you, Vin, that you are not broken… not irreparably so. Your mind is simply playing out those feelings of being held against your will… being at the mercy of unscrupulous men and their deviance. You have nothing to fear and most certainly, nothing to be ashamed of.” 

 

Tanner swallowed down the bile that was threatening to rise. He wanted so desperately to believe Ezra’s words. He wanted that hope. 

 

“You  _ WILL _ recover… and you  _ WILL _ return to your former self-assured, reliable, stalwart self…”

 

“How can ya’ possibly know? How can ya’ be sure?” 

 

Vin turned his gaze to seek out Ezra’s face. He had to see his friend’s eyes when he answered. He had to know if Ezra was just trying to make him feel better or…

 

“I know, my friend, simply because I refuse to allow any other outcome.” 

 

The two men stared at each other for several long minutes, neither moving, neither speaking. Vin’s mind struggled to find an adequate response. He’d always known that these six men had his back. They were his family and by that extension, there was very little that they wouldn’t do for each other. 

 

He’d made it a basic tenet of his own daily existence that there wasn’t anything he wouldn’t sacrifice for one of them, even his life if it were called for. But he’d never really accepted the fact that any of them, except maybe Chris, would every bear that commitment in return. 

 

“Ez… I don’... I wan’ ta’ believe ya… but… I... “ Vin fumbled to find the words, to express his lack of faith that he would ever return to how he’d been before. Still, he could almost see the lifeline that was dangling just in front of him, he only had to accept it and take hold. 

 

Ezra smiled and reached across the gap that separated them to place his hand on Vin’s shoulder. 

 

“It is because I’ve been where you are - and I am still standing - as you will continue to do as well. The others may never fully comprehend what you have endured, and hopefully they never will. But it also means that even their best, well-meaning gestures of support are not the same as having someone who has lived the experience and came out the other side.”

 

Vin nodded and offered back a weak smile that this time did not immediately leave his face. 

 

“That op with Simic… that was almost two years ago… I mean… how did you… how long did it take…” 

 

“I still occasionally require the services of Dr. Bishop. But… rest assured, the nightmares are now relegated to the occasion when I find myself particularly stressed… or when a certain odor reminds me of that place,” the older agent admitted. “In time and with help, you too will find that the triggers become isolated… the nightmares less frequent. But I will not lie to you… it may take a while… and there may always be something that reminds you of this experience.”

 

“So they never just go away?” 

 

Ezra moved his head side to side. “Possibly, but unlikely. But, you can overcome them. Replace them… I have every confidence that you will. And I will always be here to help you when they do not.”

 

“Ez… I don’ know how I can ever repay ya’... just being able to talk to ya’ about this a bit… I feel better. I know Chris want’s to help… to fix me… but… it's just not that easy.”

 

“Don’t shut Mr. Larabee out. He is your strongest supporter and over time… I believe you will find that speaking with him about this will help immensely. When the experience is not so raw… when your nightmares are not so painful and vivid…”

 

Vin chuckled. “If Chris could hear ya’ now…”

 

“Yes, well, I will disavow any knowledge of that last declaration if you so much as allude to Mr. Larabee that I endorse his ability to provide counseling.”

 

Both men laughed together, the tension ebbing. 

 

“Would ya’ mind helping me find someone… professional like… you know?” Vin asked sincerely. 

 

“I would be very pleased to assist you with that, Vin,” Ezra promised. “And anytime you need to talk… please consider me a trusted confidant.”

 

“Thanks, Ez… I hope… well… If you could do this… I ‘magine I can get through it too…” 

 

“I have every confidence.” Ezra concurred. “Now perhaps you might consider partaking in some decent nourishment. You certainly cannot speed along your recovery if you do not make an attempt to eat more healthily ... and regularly.” 

 

“Ez… I don’ know…”

 

“And besides… I have a wager with Mr. Larabee that I could get you to eat something while he was out on his errands.” 

 

Ezra turned toward the kitchen and was about to make his way toward the other room just as the rumble of Chris’ big Ram truck could be heard coming up the gravel driveway. Vin’s smile this time was wide and genuine. He lifted his own arm and slung it around Ezra’s shoulder, joining him in stride as they moved toward the kitchen. 

 

“Okay Ez…” he conceded. “but I get a cut of your winnings…”

  
  
  


_ *** finis *** _

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you again for reading... hope you enjoyed.


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